The sense of under appreciation can cling to you like a gym rat’s stench after spending a humid day at the park deadlifting weights. It’s sense that can arise in any job, I’m sure. I know I’ve experienced it at the ballpark. And there isn’t a month at the library where it doesn’t sneak up on me like an ex-lover trying to make amends. And it’s easy to feel invisible when everyone gets the praise, overlooking that despite their planning, you helped in the execution. People would beeline around me to shake hands with the brains of the operation. Sure, we get the pats on the back. The nods of recognition from those you helped, but it the feeling still arises. Sometimes, though, there…

It’s as if he can no longer tell when he’s depressed. The moods just begin to bleed into each other, you know? One moment, he’s elated. The next, a mess. The scrolls through the messages on the screen. Thumbs up the joke. Likes the meme. He writes in a journal. Thoughts and words that hold on to his attention. Thoughts like prayers whispered underneath his breath as he turns the page for the day. There were moments when he did pray. He didn’t know he prayed to, but he hoped to hell there was someone listening when he knew there wasn’t. He practiced this smile since the sixth grade. Practice the subtle shrug when asked, “Is there something wrong?” or the more common, “You…

It’s not always chariots and wild horses. Some times it’s muted speech. A text message while sitting across the same table. A simple gesture. The edges of a mouth curling. A conversation about the flaws of The Phantom Menace while watching the movie. I started thinking about suicide last week. Not my suicide, of course. But Mitchell Heisman’s suicide. Namely his 1,900 page suicide note. I heard about Heisman years ago. I downloaded his book, but never read it. Even now, I’m hesitant to read it. It did get me thinking again. Years ago, after the split, I started toying with the idea of writing a resignation letter. Not resigning from a job, but from relationships. From socializing. From romantic aspirations. The “letter” never…

Thought about you today. The urge to call you faded when I accepted that I no longer have your contact information. Still, you were on my mind the moment I learned that Dolores O’Riordan passed away. I recall how excited you were attended a concert several years back. How you swore she was singing just to you. I remember the late night phone calls. Your voice singing a cappella. Or the countless car rides where’d you sing along to The Cranberries. I wonder how you’re taking the news. Who’s listening to you mourn the loss of an idol? Why did you turn out the lights? Did you know that I was sleeping? Advertisements

10:15. Traffic light paused, a long duration of self-evaluation. The strumming of an old guitar on the radio. Three men pushing shopping carts down the empty sidewalk, sweat glistening off their brow. One of them waves to someone in the distance. A smile spreading across his face like spilled ink on the carpet. Kept the windows rolled down because the fresh air is easier to breathe these days. It ain’t too cool, but it’s not where near the inferno temperatures here. Unless you’re one of those guys pushing carts down the street. (Out of Nowhere) 12:02. Her fragrance intoxicates. She’s an order of homebrew, blonde roast. A voice on the radio reads the time. It makes no difference, the way her words sway throughout…